


like waves against the sand

by lionsenpai



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi, also i cant add any warnings yet but ill post really explicit sex or disembowelment as some point, but im going to cry about jihl nabaat forever, fuck names, it was only a matter of time, not particularly explicit sex but i upped the rating, tumblr requests that are too short for actual fic, what do i name something that isnt about anything in particular, whichever comes first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set with a focus on no particular character or pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zerrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "putting up christmas decorations, one gets the other to come close not sure where to put a decoration; turns out the decoration is mistletoe. They share a cute kiss. (fangrai)"

"Light," Fang smiles, setting her hand to Lightning’s hip. "You don’t need to try so hard if all you want’s a kiss."

Lightning arches a brow, looking for some inclination of exactly what it is Fang is talking about somewhere on that stupid mug of hers. She comes away with nothing but smugness and bravado and then sighs. “What?” she caves, rolling her eyes at the way Fang’s face lights up. 

"That green leaf stuff you’ve got there." She picks at the string of garland Lightning threw over her shoulder for ease of carry. "Vanille told me about it." She sways closer, playing with a piece of her hair and grinning like she’s the hottest thing on Pulse. 

"What this?" Lightning asks, rolling her shoulder. "What did Vanille tell you?"

"You vipers like to kiss beneath some poisonous leaf. Mistletoe. Didn’t think you’d try for my attention like this, though. You’re walking around with the thing on your shoulder."

"Fang," Lightning says, ignoring the way she can smell cinnamon on Fang’s breath. 

Fang hums, and says, “Feeling neglected, are we princess?”

"This is garland." Lightning says. "Not mistletoe."

For a moment Fang doesn’t register exactly what Lightning said, but then suddenly her confidence melts away into a look of  _oh no_. She turns away, pulling herself away from Lightning and covering her face with her hand, and Lightning just smirks. 

"Fuck," Fang mumbles into her palm. "Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_.”

"Are you sure this wasn’t a try for  _my_ attention?”

"Lightning,  _shut up._ ”

"I can pretend like I didn’t see this if you want."

"Lightning, kiss me and  _shut up_.”

Lightning gives her that much at least, but that doesn’t mean she stops wearing the garland around her neck like a scarf for the rest of the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five sentence fic challenge, go.
> 
> "Fang x Light fighting with each other's weapons."

Fang suggests it almost halfheartedly, her feet bare in the soil of the fields that were her old stomping grounds centuries ago. They haven’t changed much, she thinks, and neither has the sun, but Lightning—Lightning  _has_.

It’s obvious in the way she looks sideways at Fang, like she’s measuring her against herself, and then begins to peel the gloves from her hands. 

"I just upgraded Blazefire," she says, offering it up like she didn’t used to hold the thing with a vice. 

Fang grins despite herself, kicks her sandals away, and pulls her Dragon Pole from her back to offer it to Light, saying, “You can have a headstart then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jihl the drill sergeant, and Light the enlistee"

Jihl doesn’t bother to learn the names of new recruits—her drill sergeants hammer out the problems and unless the company as a whole is suffering, she rarely gets involved—but when she hears the name ‘Farron’ among her drill sergeants twice with a good note, she takes notice because she knows her drill sergeants aren’t easy with praise.

She looks for her at the next pt test, clicking her pen and watching for the number 13 to appear from the lines of recruits waiting to be tested on their pull ups. 

She’s almost surprised with what she sees. There’s nothing too extraordinary about her, maybe except for her hair which is a very unnatural pink, but when she’s called up and Jihl gives her a long, hard stare, she doesn’t falter beneath it. 

Farron, Jihl thinks, making a note to remember the name; she isn’t going to be training for much longer, and she thinks she could use a soldier with that kind of spine when she goes up for officer ranking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fang/Lightning - damaged goods."

They don’t talk about it, don’t really even let it show. When they throw themselves into a fight, they twirl and spin and cast spells and fall into the same rhythm they knew so well when things were simpler.

(fang laughs to herself—when was being a l’cie simple?)

But no matter how much they hack and slash and tear through anything that stands before them, there’s no changing the fact that something’s changed between them, something’s  _broken_. Fang thinks it’s easy to place the blame, and tries not to fall into the pattern, but something about  _Lightning_  feels broken, and she doesn’t think a few easy words and a little bit of hope are going to fix her this time around.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jihl, Jihl survives AU. The l'Cie are heroes by the time she awakens."

They don’t tell her right away. 

She wouldn’t understand anyway, not in the first few days, because all she can put together is that death is more painful than she would have thought. When the pain begins to fade (it will never disappear completely, they tell her in that same tone they used to say she looks better today), she realizes she isn’t dead, at least not in the way that was intended for her.

She expects Yaag to come see her, expects friends, what’s left of her family, but the only one who comes is the doctor, over and over, telling her every day that she looks better than the day before. She realizes she doesn’t exist in this new world, that Colonel Jihl Nabaat is just another causality of war, and the people who supposedly killed her are heroes; she supposes that’s what happens to tools when the players are finished with them.


	6. she had a bike, but no name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the question was asked: "how does one have sex on a motorcycle". an answer in 200 words or less.

She stretches forward toward the handlebars like she’s getting ready to lean into a turn, but her hands stop short and catch on the key guard, pulling her forward into the curve of the motorcycle. Her hips rise and you scoot in behind her, fingers playing close on her thighs.   
  
“Ever done it on a bike?” she asks, her voice high and taut but lilting towards the end.

“No,” you tell her, sliding one hand into the gap between her thighs and the curve of the bike and leaning into her back, face near pressed into the beautiful pink hair.

You didn’t think girls like her existed, let alone could be found at your local gay bar. Best of all she’s not even that drunk.

You press your fingers against the seam of her pants, and she arches just a bit. Her nails run over the steel of your bike when you start rubbing quick circles, and you have to stretch forward and nip at her neck.

“Watch the paint,” you tell her because your Ducati is your baby, and she’s not nearly done enough for you to excuse the abuse. You don’t even know her name.

She pushes her hips back against yours and gives a little breath that sounds just a bit like “oh” and then tells you quick, “It’s not the bike I’d worry about.”

She jolts again when your fingers catch her just right, but suddenly it’s not the particular color of her hair or the way her shoulders are bunching up around her neck that’s got your attention. You smile a bit, almost surprised that your stranger’s telling you things like that even while she’s getting fucked on your bike.

You grin some more when she jumps a bit, breathing hard now, and press into her back, one hand one her breast and the other between her thighs. “Really now?” you ask, edging your teeth against the lobe of her ear. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store for me then,” you tell her, and ain’t that the absolute truth.

She just lets out a little laugh that’s somewhere between a challenge and a moan, and damn if she isn’t just the most interesting thing you’ve ever picked up. You just hope she plays as good a game as she talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really old


	7. if there's a prize for rotten judgement (i've had no part in that)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dressing room shenanigans

She’s got you pressed against the mirror in the narrowest dressing room you’ve ever seen, and all you can feel is belated regret at having ever pushed her to this and a spike of euphoria when she pushes her front against your back and drags her nails over your hip.

The regret tastes more like a decision well made every time she breathes heavy in your ear, reminding you, “Not a word, sweetheart. You’ve been asking for this all day.”

Perhaps, but feather light touches and bedroom eyes have nothing on the hard caresses she’s pressing to your thighs and chest. She slides her hand beneath your bra and catches a nipple between her fingers, and you remember, perhaps, there had been a challenge in there somewhere too, but it’s getting hard to remember clearly now.

Something about breaking, or rather, who would break first, you think. But you think this isn’t very fair at all with how she’s got you pressed.

“Not a word,” she reminds you, like she knows what’s ripe on your tongue.

It’s hot against your neck, and you can see the smirk behind your shoulder in the mirror before you. You can see Fang press her forehead to your hair, see her with her hand under your shirt and brassiere alike, see her undo the button on the fly of your jeans and go for the zipper.

You squeeze your eyes shut and feel her fingers slide into your underwear, and all at once you can’t help but shudder out a little breath. She laughs into your hair, smugly, and finds your clit with two fingers, stroking you hard there.

Your knees go weak then, and she laughs again. “Fang,” you say, quiet and breathy so you nearly can’t hear yourself.

She just strokes you faster, and you can’t arch or jerk nearly as much as you need because she’s got you up against the wall. She likes that, likes the way you’re being played like a tune and can’t help the way your body tenses so sudden and so quick that you can’t stop yourself from shivering.

“You asked for it, sweetheart. Don’t you think you didn’t,” she tells you again, so pleased and so smug.

I know, you want to say, biting your lip and smiling through it all. I know, you think and there isn’t the slightest taste of regret on your tongue when white spots explode behind your lids and every bit of you comes alive with pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really old too


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidnunc - Someone who must know everything

Steel arcs, there’s a spray of blood, and then the feed cuts with a metallic screech, but Jihl barely blinks, waving away the projection in favor of two more with longer recordings. Her frown is tight lipped, her shoulders squared like the weight of her position is a palpable thing. 

The others were simple, easy.

Sazh Katzroy and the girl he totted around were blades pointed at each other’s hearts—she needed only to give them a push and they would destroy each other. Jihl thinks the governor’s son and the giant of a man might be the same if the fleeting footage of their trek through Palumpolum is anything to go off. And the woman in the flowing blue garb… Take her out from afar and what does all that strength do for her? She’s sturdy, her flesh a fortress of protection, but Jihl knows everything breaks given the right force. She’ll topple just as the others will,  _have_. 

(her eyes flick to the projection of the l’Cie’s holding chamber. they sit quietly, not quite looking at each other. too caught up in one another to bother with their real cage. she smiles faintly.)

The GC soldier, however, is a different matter. Jihl pulls different feeds together, arranging them with flicks of her wrist so she can see her in action. Fast—and strong too. She cuts through paladins like they’re made of wax, her gunblade screeching through the metal of their necks and coming out the other side. She might favor her right, but she guards her left with magic, crackling electricity contained in the palm of her hand. 

Jihl wonders,  _why her_? There are millions of Cocoon citizens who would lay down their arms and wait for execution, millions more who would be brushing dangerous, nothing more.

She stops one of the feeds when the soldier’s face appears. The look in her eyes could kill, nevermind her gunblade.

"Ma’am." Her sergeant knocks twice. "Lieutenant here to see you."

Jihl looks up from the videos, dismissing them all with barely a thought, and turns to face the door to her cabin. She folds her hands atop her chrome desk and puts on a smile. “Enter.”

Lieutenant Amodar is sickly white, his hair disheveled. He sweats like he’s run for miles and smiles weakly back at her, fidgeting under her gaze. 

"Ma’am," he greets, swallowing.

"Have a seat Lieuntenant. There are a few things I’d like to ask you about one of your soldiers."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Meeting in the E.R. (sort of)

Fang gets pulled out of the party by the scruff of her jacket, one arm slung around Vanille’s dainty shoulders and the other grasping for the brawler who pulled the oaf off her.  _Gods_ , that beer bottle hurt. She’s gonna pay him back good as soon as her vision stops fogging up around the edges. 

"She needs to go to the hospital," the woman says, pulling Fang along with arms like cords of steel. No wonder that guy fell off. "She needs to get her head looked at."

"I had a few drinks," Vanille admits. "So did she. Should we call an ambulance?"

"I can drive. My car’s down the street."

Down the street is more of a walk than Fang could have ever imagined, but she drags her feet less and less as they go, some of the haze lifting from her vision. She’s got sense enough to turn to Vanille and tell her, “Relax. I’ve had worse.”

Vanille just asks, “How much farther?”

"The silver one." She fumbles for her keys and the lights flash.  

"Nice car," Fang says, blinking. "Sorry if I bleed all over it."

"Hospital’s twenty minutes away. I’ve got rags in the back." 

She opens the passenger door and between the two of them, Fang ends up dumped inside, holding her nose so the blood runs between her fingers. Vanille slips into the back seat and passes one of the towels in the back up to the woman. 

"Here, hold this over your nose," she says. 

"You’re pretty good at this," Fang tells her, doing as she says. 

"My sister is a nursing student," the woman says, pulling the seat belt across her lap and then circling around to the driver’s side. 

Fang laughs low, wiping at the blood dribbling down the front of her face with the rag. “Lucky you. My sister’s a heart breaker in need of a bodyguard,” she says, looking sideways as she slips in and buckles herself up, starting the engine. “Trade you.”

Vanille leans forward against the back of Fang’s seat, running her fingers through her hair and pulling it away from her face. “Sorry, sorry,” she hums, nearly sounding like she means it.

The driver glances at Fang, the hint of a smile playing across her lips. “I’ll keep my lot. Try not to tip your head back too much. You want the blood in the tissue, not down your throat.”

Fang doesn’t argue. Her throbbing head is bad enough without the taste of blood on her tongue. ”Who should I be thanking for the ride?”

"Lightning," she says, pulling out onto the street. 

"Fang. Nice meeting you. It’ll be nicer when I don’t feel like shit."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Librarian AU for Imrryr

She comes three times a week, a satchel of textbooks under her arm and a tall black coffee in her hand, her scarf pulled up against the cool autumn air. The library is expansive, two floors with too many nooks and crannies for her to get lost in, but she settles in the same spot everyday, tucked away at a table in a corner of the ground floor. She sits for hours, pouring over texts, scanning the shelves, and scribbling into notepads as thick as some books, and if Jihl has taken any special note of her it’s only because she’s so very out of place. 

 _Pink_ _hair_ , Jihl thinks, pushing her cart. She snatches glimpses of her like looking too long will make her blind—or call attention to herself.  _Who in their right mind would dye their hair that_   _shade?_

"Hey boss. We getting a break soon or what?"

Jihl nearly jumps as Rydgea deposits another armful onto her cart, but she sniffs and pushes her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, masking her surprise with a frown. 

"We’ll start our rotating shifts after the backstock from yesterday is done," she says, narrowing her eyes. "If you’d completed it then, we wouldn’t have three carts of books to shelve before noon. Finals are a month away."

Rydgea smiles sheepishly, but it’s all a show. “Aw, come on, Jihl. No one studies a month out for finals.”

She sniffs again, resisting the urge to glance back at the woman in the corner. “I do. And you would too if you weren’t incapable.”

He grumbles something that sounds very much like ‘drill sergeant’, but Jihl sends him on his way with a nod of her head and not so much as a second thought to how unfair he thinks her. If he didn’t want to work, he should have gotten a job at the campus coffee shop instead; word from Cid is the baristas there do nothing but flirt with customers and—on occasion—actually brew some coffee. 

It surprises her, though. Lifting a copy of  _New Zealand: A Guide_  up onto the shelf, Jihl can’t help but wonder why she hasn’t seen pink-hair around campus—or how it’s come to be that Jihl  _isn’t_  the only one logging night shifts at the library when exams are still so far off.  _  
_

 _Probably a med student,_ Jihl thinks, turning her nose up. 

Stiffs, all of them. Never do anything but go to class, work, and the library. There’s more life in some of the cadavers she’s heard are hung in ice boxes in the medical hall’s basement.

Not that she doesn’t respect their drive, their attention to detail; it’s just that late nights, early mornings, and taking yourself too seriously make for unpopular traits in a person.

Still, when has a med student ever looked like that? Her arms are cords of muscle, defined in the sort of way she’d expect from Yaag or Cid or even herself. Jihl’s figure comes from early morning workouts with the rest of the cadets; this girl looks like she could breeze through the rope climbs and pyramids that make Jihl’s arm tremble. 

She moves along with her cart, watching as the woman stands with an armful of books—Jihl squints, but she can’t make out the titles even with her glasses—and disappears between the history and geography shelves, and Jihl hears her shuffling texts before returning for two more on her table. 

_Oh no._

"Excuse me," Jihl says without even thinking, crossing the distance between them in quick, long strides. " _Please_  don’t do that.” She manages the please between grit teeth, wondering how many books this woman’s tucked away back here where no one will find them but her. 

She looks up, her mouth a slant of surprise. 

"What?"

Jihl closes in on her and presses her fingers atop the cover of one of her books, forcing herself to smile politely. 

"I’ll take those from you if you’re finished with them. We spend more time finding books that have been put back improperly than we do shelving our returns," she tells her. 

The woman lets Jihl pull the two books from her arms, but she looks less than apologetic. 

"I wasn’t going to just put them somewhere," she says. "They go here."

Jihl glances down at the titles in her hands:  _Gun, Germs, and Steel_ and  _A History of the World._ She glances down the aisle, noting this is  _exactly_ where these books ought to be. 

"Still," she fumbles. "We have a policy."

She turns toward the shelves and begins to file the books away, keeping an eye out for anything out of place while she does. Vaguely, she feels the woman’s eyes tracking her as she moves, and unsurprisingly, she’s still standing there when Jihl has finished. 

"You’re Jihl, right?" she asks. 

Jihl pauses. “Yes.”

"Amodar’s spoken about you before. Heard you worked at the campus library."

"Amodar?" From ROTC? "What did he say?"

She smiles. “Said you should have been a med student.”


End file.
